


No Words

by WordsInTimeAndSpace



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Hugs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 18:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19067791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsInTimeAndSpace/pseuds/WordsInTimeAndSpace
Summary: After armageddon, Aziraphale doesn’t want to be alone. Lucky for him, Crowley is softer than he wants to admit.





	No Words

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, this is the first time I wrote something for a new fandom in five years or so. But I had a lot of feelings after finishing the show this morning and had to let them out somehow. Enjoy!

They’re standing at a street corner, bathed in the dim light of dusk. The city is growing quiet around them as the night approaches. A few last sunbeams dance across Crowley’s face, lighting up his red hair and leaving sparkles in his eyes. Aziraphale basks in the calmness of this moment. It would feel miraculous even on a normal day. Even if it wasn’t the first day of the rest of their lifes - after preventing armageddon and a trip to hell and back while wearing the face of the demon who’s, against all odds, his best friend in the whole world.

Technically, this would be the moment where they say goodbye. Crowley’s flat is to the left and Aziraphale’s bookstore to the right. This is the exact spot where they’ve gone separate ways dozens and dozens of times before. But today, Aziraphale just _can’t_. It feels wrong to leave Crowley’s side, after all that’s happened. They’ve stopped walking, silently watching each other, as Aziraphale struggles to say what he wants.

The idea has been on his mind for ages, at least since that one night of 1941, if not before. But putting it into words still feels wrong. Sinful, even. As if saying the words alone would surely put him back to hell one day. During the last few days the quiet whisper turned into a vigorous chorus, too loud to be ignored any longer. He opens his mouth to speak, but not a single sound leaves his throat. Crowley raises an eyebrow at him and Aziraphale tears his gaze away from his face, flustered. Oh, how hard can it be to say? _Don’t leave, please stay, take my hand, just us against both heaven and hell and the rest of the world-_

“Come on then,” Crowley says, abruptly pulling Aziraphale out of his thoughts. He nods towards the right, and without waiting for an answer, starts to walk. Stunned, Aziraphale looks after him. Crowley strolls down the street with a swing in his hips, right towards Aziraphale’s bookstore. Aziraphale blinks.

“Are you coming or what?” Crowley yells over his shoulder and Aziraphale hurries to catch up with him. He falls into step beside the demon, still not sure what to say. Crowley looks at him, a small, knowling smile on his lips that Aziraphale can’t help but answer with a nervous smile of his own.

“I’ll make us some hot cocoa,” Aziraphale says as soon as they step through the door. It’s a distraction, if he’s honest with himself, and he’s sure Crowley knows it. He feels the demon’s gaze in his neck as he shuffles into the kitchen. When he’s out of sight, Aziraphale takes a deep breath and wills his shaking hands to still. He miracles the mugs clean and the milk fresh and spends too long stirring in the chocolate. When he’s done, he feels at least calm enough to face Crowley again.

Crowley is waiting for him, splayed out on the couch with his feet propped up on the armrest. His eyes are closed, the glasses discarded on the coffee table. He looks tired, although Aziraphale isn’t sure if that’s an emotion demons are capable of. But maybe Crowley is an exception. He’s always been one, after all.

A memory suddenly pops up. Crowley’s face just after Aziraphale had made it back to Earth, without a body. The sheer desperation in his voice. The ‘I lost my best friend’. Affection blooms in Aziraphale’s chest, making him dizzy. Yes, definitely an exception.

“You know,” Aziraphale starts quietly, meeting Crowley’s eyes as the demon looks up. “I always thought I was the soft one of us two.”

Crowley scoffs. “You are.”

“Yes, I know I am, but I’m beginning to think that underneath all…. this,” Aziraphale pauses to gesture along the length of Crowley’s body, “you’re actually quite soft as well.”

“I’m not soft,” Crowley sneers. “I’m a demon.”

Aziraphale smiles. “A soft demon, then.”

“Rubbish. Demon’s aren’t soft. Demons _can’t_ be soft. Do you have any idea what they do with soft demons down there?”

Inevitably, Aziraphale shudders with the memories of the past day. The trip to hell had been, well, hell really, although he’d been confident he’d make it out of there alive. But the thought of what could have been if they hadn’t swapped faces - what they’d have done to Crowley if the demon hadn’t slipped through their grasp - was something he would not forget for a very long time. Aziraphale gulps. “I can imagine,” he says quietly, trying to curl his lips into a smile but utterly failing.

No matter what Crowley says about himself, Aziraphale swears that his face softens. The frown disappears. He actually sits up straight, making enough room for Aziraphale on the couch.

“Look,” Crowley begins as soon as Aziraphale places the cocoa on the coffee table and sits next to Crowley, maybe a little closer than he usually would. “I know this was a close call. But it’s over. You realize that, don’t you?”

Aziraphale lets out a shaky breath. “Only for now. Not forever.”

“We’ve got time. Can you imagine how much paperwork they have after butchering the end of the world? They’ll be too busy to think of us for the next while.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale shudders just thinking about the piles of forms that must be gathering up ahead. “You might be right.”

“Course I am. We’ve got at least a few years, if you ask me. Maybe decades. Decades without any surveillance. Without any new orders.” Crowley’s voice drops a pitch. “Decades in which we can do whatever the hell we want.”

Aziraphale contemplates his words. Maybe this idea shouldn’t thrill him as much as it does, but he can’t help it. He’s tired of fighting the way Crowley makes him feel every time he looks at him just like that, every time they’re a ‘we’ instead of an angel and a demon bound together only by circumstances. It makes his heart leap in his chest and his throat go dry, and he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Aziraphale finally smiles. “Just the two of us,” he says.

Crowley grins and scoots closer to him. He rests a hand on Aziraphale’s thigh. “Yes, just the two of us.”

Aziraphale’s breath hitches. He’s suddenly painfully aware that he has no idea what the two of them even look like, without any interference from above or below, without the ceaseless fear that they’re not allowed to do any of this. Crowley just rolls his eyes at his hesitation.

“Oh, come here, angel.” Crowley puts an arm around Arizaphale’s shoulders. For a second Aziraphale freezes, but oh, isn’t this exactly what he’d wanted for years and years? What he’d yearned for, in these small moments when he’d allowed himself to feel these things? He relaxes under this strange, unfamiliar touch, and lets Crowley pull him into an embrace. It’s a delight, to feel Crowley’s warmth against him, to hold him close. He buries his face in the crook of Crowley’s neck and breathes in his scent. A human would maybe say that this feels like he’s gone to Heaven, Aziraphale thinks, but unfortunately he knows what a boring, sterile place it is in reality.

Crowley’s chest rumbles beneath his touch when he speaks, so quietly that Aziraphale can barely understand him. “I know I’m always going too fast for you, but I can wait,” Crowley murmurs. “We’ve got time. Until the next armageddon.”

Aziraphale smiles against Crowley’s shoulder. “See? That’s what I mean. Soft.”

Crowley lets out a huff, but doesn’t reply. Aziraphale counts it as a win. It gives him the courage to continue.

“I like soft,” he says quietly. Crowley tightens his grip around him.

“Good,” the demon finally says. His lips brush Aziraphale’s forehead.

They both go quiet, just enjoying each other’s closeness. Aziraphale wouldn’t know what to say anyway. But maybe this thing between them, unfathomable and undescribable and _wonderful_ , doesn’t need to be put into words at all.


End file.
